Sex could be - and, for many, often was - like therapy.
We gave and took and exposed and released.
That was what Eli needed from me right then.
And, quite frankly, I was more than happy to give it to him.
Belly a mix of fluttering and swirling - excitement and trepidation - I led Eli behind the counter and through the door that led to the back where I had a very mini kitchen, bathroom, and a decent-sized, dark, mildly creepy storage room full of built-in metal shelving units and a few tables for laying out merchandise.
The heavy, metal-bar-enforced door slammed behind me, making me jump and turn on my heel.
And there he was, just as tense as he was a moment before, holding the items he had selected off my shelves. Items I knew exactly how to use, exactly how he would use them on me. There was no denying the thrill inside, mingled with just the slightest trace of hesitation. Not because I didn't want to explore, just because I hadn't gone that deep before. There was always a push and pull inside when trying something new. That was where the trust needed to step in.
Did I trust Eli that much? This man I hardly knew.
"Red," he said, putting a few of the items on the table beside the door, opening the biggest one with his hands.
"I'm sorry?"
"Safe words are bullshit. Green. Yellow. Red. That's all you ever need. They're self-explanatory, and you'll never forget them."
Green means gogogo.
Yellow means slow down or this is going too far too fast.
Red means stop now.
It was elementary.
And he was right, no one could ever forget them.
"Okay," I agreed, watching as he methodically moved to the next product, opening the unnecessarily thick plastic with his bare hands. That shouldn't have been sexy, but I had trouble opening those damn things with heavy duty scissors, so it somehow totally was hot.
"Take off your clothes," he demanded, the words sending a shiver through me. "Now, Autumn," he added when there was a moment of hesitation.
With an undeniable tightening in my sex, my hands went for my shirt.
Bossy Eli. I could get used to him.
A part of me felt an instinct to play, to tease, to, well, strip for him. But something was telling me there was no room for that in this dark back room with a pile of toys he wanted to use on me.
So I didn't tease.
I took off my clothes as he demanded.
Shirt. Pants. Bra. Panties.
And then there I was, stark freaking naked to his fully dressed.
My nipples tweaked from a mix of anticipation and the coldness in the room, making me shiver as his eyes raked over me.
"Up on that table," he demanded, ignoring me as he took a few items over to a small utility sink and started scrubbing.
Even as lost as he was in that moment, he was still managing to think straight. Maybe the focus of having tasks to complete was helping him rein it in slightly.
I looked over at the table, long, rectangular, slightly lower than hip-height because the previous owner must have been a tiny person, and cold, unforgiving stainless steel.
I was shivering at the idea of touching it even before I raised my leg and got my knee up, the rest of my body following. "Turn away," he said without looking. "Hands and knees."
I wouldn't be able to see him at all.
Why that was absolutely thrilling was beyond me.
It should have been scary.
It should have bothered me that I would never see coming whatever he planned to do to me.
Metal slammed down on metal behind me, making me jump for a moment before I felt the cuff slip around one ankle, closing tight.
"Spread your thighs all the way out."
I did.
Then the next cuff closed.
I knew what was coming.
"Shoulders to the table, hands between your legs."
Forced posture bar.
They held the legs spread wide and cuffed your hands to the center of the bar, preventing any movement whatsoever. You could pull. You could squirm. But you weren't getting free.
I lowered down, only mildly embarrassed at just how exposed the position was making me.
That being said, when it came to forced posture, this was the kindest kit. He could have chosen the arched back one that included a collar that attached down your spine to a curved, ball-topped hook that was inserted into your ass so if you tried to move, the ball pulled in a somewhat unpleasant way inside you, forcing you right back into position.
So, yeah, if he wanted me face down, ass up like any normal dom and didn't plan to put a hook in my ass, I was more than willing to get into position.
My stomach dropped slightly as I felt the cuffs slide around my wrists, as I felt my freedom taken from me.
I would be lying if I said panic didn't seize me for a moment, that self-preservation didn't rear its head. It did. My belly swirled; my air got caught in my chest.